


Slowly, Intimately, In Every Way He Knows You Fear

by adara_greenleaf



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Adult Content, Branding, Cutting, Drugged Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gang Rape, Graphic Description, Knifeplay, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Violence, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con References, Rope Bondage, Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara_greenleaf/pseuds/adara_greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear." Natasha doesn't kick Clint's butt on the catwalk. Instead, this happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very graphic fic. Please read all warnings carefully before reading. Seriously. Read them. There's a laundry list. You have been warned.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please point them out when you see them. My work is un-Beta'd.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own them. Good thing, too. Look at what I've done.

 

 

“This is Agent Romanoff. I copy.” Nat stands up, though a bit unsteadily, and goes after her partner.

She finds him a few minutes later, stalking across a catwalk and heading to the detention center, just like Fury said. Nat knows she can be soundless when she moves and she uses that training to get right behind Clint. She’s just about to place a punch to his spine when she notices he has cocked his head slightly to the side, though he continues to walk. It is so slight that no one else would have noticed it, but then again, she isn’t just anybody. Nat is Clint’s partner and they have been together for almost seven years.

Nat steels herself as, a microsecond later, Clint has an arrow nocked and is turning to face her. Nat grabs his bow and twists it and herself out of the way just as Clint releases. The arrow whizzes past her, and she doesn’t even blink. He kicks out at her and it barely connects, but she releases his bow and stumbles back all the same. Distance; she needs some distance to land her next blow. As she suspects he will, Clint takes a step toward her and Nat is already halfway through her backwards roundhouse kick, which hits him square in the chest. He stumbles back, a grunt on his lips, and Nat allows herself a small smile. She is better than him at hand to hand combat, always has been. Their sparring sessions, which eventually had attracted a crowd of other SHIELD agents, are always lengthy and they always end with both of them bloodied. They also almost always end with Clint flat on his back and Nat’s thighs around his throat. He would concede then, a succession of quick taps to her outer thigh, and she would help him up.

Their sparring sessions aren’t far from her mind as Nat takes the small window her kick has afforded her and slides underneath the catwalk. She comes out the other side, swinging herself out onto the catwalk using one of the steel beams, and lands a kick to Clint’s sternum. She thinks she hears a crack, but it may not be his bone breaking. Clint, of course, stumbles back, but he is reaching for an arrow as he does. Nat has only enough time to register that the beam she used before is about a foot behind her, and so she steps back and grabs onto it, ready to swing herself onto the parallel catwalk just as Clint release his second arrow. She is too slow, though, and instead of missing her, the arrow embeds itself in her left thigh.

_No!_ Her mind rages. _This isn’t how this is supposed to go!_

Nat yelps and lands, quite unceremoniously, on the other catwalk. She hears Clint snigger and her blood boils. Nat pushes herself off the metal of the catwalk and turns just in time to see Clint’s booted foot coming at her face. She tries to roll away, but it is too late. His boot connects with her face and the world descends into darkness.


	2. Intimately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear." Natasha doesn't kick Clint's butt on the catwalk. Instead, this happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very graphic fic. Please read all warnings carefully before reading. Seriously. Read them. There's a laundry list. You have been warned.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please point them out when you see them. My work is un-Beta'd.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own them. Good thing, too. Look at what I've done.

 

 

“Tell me why she is restrained, Agent Barton.”

Nat hears the voice, a very familiar voice, as if through a wool blanket, and comes to with a jerk. Her eyes remain closed.

_Loki!_ Her mind screams.

She cannot move her hands or her feet. She tugs, as hard as she can, and all it does is send the rough rope biting into the skin at her wrists and ankles. Her left thigh is aching and, dimly, she recalls what happened on the catwalk. She tries to sit up, to lift her head, but she can barely do the latter, much less the former. She doesn’t think the arrow is still in her, but then again, she’s never been shot through with one of Clint’s arrows, or any arrow for that matter, and she doesn’t know what that kind of wound is supposed to feel like.

It fucking hurts, though.

“Natasha doesn’t like to feel helpless, sir. That’s why I chose to restrain her. Also, if she wasn’t restrained she’d put up a fight and then you wouldn’t get your show.”

Nat’s heart twists. It’s Clint’s voice, but different. There’s no emotion behind his words and, even if he would ever say those terrible things, which he wouldn’t, she knows they are also not his thoughts. Loki is speaking through her partner, of that Nat is completely sure. She is aware of movement to her right and she turns her head (slowly, as her jaw and neck are throbbing, too) and opens her eyes. Clint is standing next to her and he is so close that, if she were not tied up, she could reach out and touch him.

“Well, then, Agent Barton,” Loki says somewhere on the other side of the room. A chair is scraped against the metal floor, a grating sound that sends a shiver up Nat’s spine, which she is quick to hide behind an attempt to pull at her bonds. “I’ll let you begin whenever you’re ready.”

_This isn’t right_ , Nat’s mind cries out. _This isn’t how this happens! Get him talking, Nat. Get him to give you information._

“Clint,” Nat begins as her partner moves down to her feet. Her breath hitches when she sees him pull his knife. “Clint, I know you’re still in there. You don’t need to do this.”

Clint is at her feet now and she can see all of him. He turns his head up and smiles at her and it’s a terrifying sight. His eyes are a bright blue, so different from his normal blue, and they are flat and unfeeling. It’s the lack of emotion, more than the otherworldly color, which chills Nat to the bone. Clint has never been an emotional man, but to see his eyes so devoid of life…It scares her more than she is willing to admit. Clint smiles, suddenly, and it is a toothy and twisted version of the one he uses when only with her.

“I don’t need to, Nat, but I want to.” His tone isn’t flat anymore. A hint of malice creeps in at the edges and matches his sick smile.

Off across the room she hears Loki chuckle, but she pushes the sound from her mind. She can do this; she can keep her partner talking. This is, after all, her skill set, what she’s been trained to do since she was a little girl. And Natasha Romanoff is good at what she does; everyone knows that, Clint more than most. Before she can say anything more, though, Loki is talking again.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Agent Barton, as you do it. I want this to go a bit like a story, where you’re the narrator. Can you do that?” Nat can’t see the would-be king, but she imagines he has a smile almost as sick as Clint’s stretched across his face.

At her feet Nat sees Clint nod once, and then he’s crawling up the bed, his legs on either side of her body, the knife in his left hand. Nat swallows and pulls again at her restraints, but they hold fast. He stops at her waist and pushes himself up to his knees, so that he towers above her. Clint is looking down at her, almost like he’s studying her, but he says nothing. Those bright blue eyes bore into her green and Nat refuses to look away.

“Clint,” she whispers and her voice is soft, almost a plea, but with the sharp edges of warning. “Don’t do this. Loki is manipulating you. You know that. I know you know that. You have to fight him.”

Her partner says nothing, but reaches a hand down to caress her cheek. It is a gentle touch and one that makes Nat’s skin crawl. This is _not_ her partner. He would never touch her like this. This is someone else entirely; a man wearing Clint’s face. Nat goes to bite his hand, and he pulls back, a chuckle issuing from his lips.

“I told you she was feisty, sir.” Clint says and he sounds almost proud before he takes the knife to her left wrist.

“You did tell me, Agent Barton. It’s nice to see it up close and personal, though.”

Nat barely hears Loki’s answer, though, because she is trying to see what Clint is doing to her with the knife. She hears it tear the leather of her cat suit, and then there’s a sharp pain as the blade bites into the underside of her arm. Nat hisses and bucks against her bonds, but Clint doesn’t even blink at her sudden movement. His knife is as steady as a scalpel in the hands of a capable surgeon.

“Narration, please, Agent Barton.” Loki reminds him coolly.

“Her suit is going to be a hindrance, sir. I’m just trying to remove the obstacle.” Clint’s eyes flick to Nat’s and he smiles. It’s a tight and terrible look and her breath catches in her throat. “Also, I always thought Nat looked good with a little red on her, so I may cut her a bit, too.”

As if to make his point the blade digs into her skin, this time at her ribcage and Nat cries out softly.

There is a soft chuckle and then a warning as Loki says, “Make sure you don’t cut her too much, Agent Barton. We’ll need her alive for all the other activities we have in store for her.”

“Don’t worry, sir, she can take it. I’ve seen her take a lot worse.” Clint lifts his knife from her waist and moves it to her other wrist. He repeats the process with the other side of her body, and cuts her at the elbow and shoulder. Her cries of pain are as muffled as she’s going to get them.

Maybe the trick isn’t to get Clint talking, she thinks. He’s never been a man of many words, anyway, and it’s very clear that he’s being manipulated by Loki. The key might just be in getting Loki to talk, which should be as easy as it was in the detention center. Loki loves to hear himself talk and Nat is a pro at getting people to say anything. She decides to give it a shot.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” Nat says and she is careful to make eye contact with Clint as she says it.

As she expects Clint says, “You don’t have to understand-”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Agent Barton,” she replies acidly and is rewarded with a hard look from her partner. The knife slices, a bit deeper this time, into her hipbone, but she ignores the pain. _That’s it_ , she thinks. _Debase him; make him feel like a fool._

“Then, you were addressing me, Agent Romanoff?” Loki is on the other side of her now and looking down at her like a lab experiment. Clint doesn’t stop what he’s doing, though, and takes his knife to Nat’s legs now, one at a time. He starts with her injured leg and rubs the heel of his hand into her wound purposely, she thinks. She bites down on her lip to keep from gasping, but damn, does it hurt.

“Doing this to me will accomplish nothing, Loki.” Nat says evenly and bites down on a hiss as Clint’s knife cuts the side of her knee. “Torturing me won’t help you achieve your greatness.”

Clint chucks, but doesn’t look up from where he is hovered over her crotch. Nat’s breath catches in her throat as the archer slides the blade of his knife over her the top of her mound and down the other side of her inner thigh. She jerks against her bonds when the blade kisses the delicate flesh of her thigh, only inches from the most sensitive place on her body. She turns her attention back to Loki, determined to push the image of Clint leering down at her sex to the back of her mind. Loki, though, is watching Clint and doesn’t turn his attention back to her until she snarls his name.

Still, he watches the archer. “It may not help me achieve my greatness, Agent Romanoff, but it does help me to fulfill my bargain.” Slowly the demi-god turns his sadistic smile upon her. “You do remember our bargain, do you not?” Loki’s smile stretches across his face, teeth bared in a sneer.

Nat swallows against the pain of Clint’s knife cutting into her again as the memories of her ‘chat’ with Loki came flooding back to her.

_“This is my bargain, you mewling quim.”_

“Clint, he’s going to kill you.” Nat says through clenched teeth. Her gaze never wavers from Loki, even as Clint’s knife continues its assault down to her ankle. The megalomaniacal demi-god, for his part, holds her gaze without breaking eye contact. The sneer remains plastered on his pale face, a malevolent gleam in his eyes.

The sudden removal of the blade, though, startles Nat almost as much as the cutting has. She tears her eyes from Loki and looks down her body at Clint, who was standing at the foot of her bed again.

“I know,” Clint says, answering her warning, and nods. Nat looks into his eyes, those cold, blue, lifeless eyes, and her heart constricts. Clint looks…resigned. It is the only term she has for his countenance.

Loki laughs again, this time with more mirth, and claps his hands together. “You see, Agent Romanoff? He accepts his fate.” Loki turns his cold gaze back to her and the malicious smile is back on his lips. “So should you.” Without saying anything else he turns on his heel and stalks off back to the other side of the room. The chair scraps on the floor again.

“Continue, Agent Barton,” Loki orders and then he falls silent.

Nat’s attention is back on Clint as her partner peels her leather suit from her body. It takes him only a few seconds, and then she is utterly exposed to him, and Loki. Clint’s gaze roams over her nakedness, but Nat doesn’t feel self-conscious. He has seen her naked before, in the field, either while she entertained a mark, or while sewing her up after a mission had gone pear-shaped. Nudity is part of her skill set. Her body is a tool, much the same as Clint’s bow and arrows, and Nat uses it to get what she needs.

It was only when Clint crawls back up her naked form that Nat’s breath sticks in her throat. He leans down and licks the blood from her shoulder, where his knife has nicked her, and when he pulls back his lips are stained red. She doesn’t want to, but Nat lets out a low moan, and it isn’t because she is in pain. The beginnings of a small, but feral, smile tug at Clint’s lips and he dips his head back down, this time to the cut just above the crease of her elbow. He scraps his stubble across the cut and this time the moan Nat lets escape is from pain. She feels Clint smile against her skin, and she turns her head to get a better look at him.

She doesn’t even see the knife in his other hand until she feels the skin on her right breast part under its sharp edge. Her scream is short and sharp. Clint is sitting up now, his thighs on either side of her torso, and as he holds her gaze he scraps the knife along her throat. It is nowhere near hard enough to open her jugular, but it does draw some blood. Clint dips his head again, but instead of going for her throat, like Nat thinks he might, he laps at the tiny amount of blood on her breast. Her eyes go unfocused and she strains against her bonds, but not in an effort to escape. She knows it’s stupid, but she wants to run her hands through Clint’s hair.

Nat knows what all the other SHIELD agents say about the two of them behind their backs. Everyone, even Fury, thinks she and Clint are sleeping with one another. She doesn’t care what they think, though. She and Clint know the truth and the truth is that, while they have very nearly come close to having sex on several occasions in the past, they have never actually done anything more than kiss. And the kissing was only to keep their cover on an Op. Nat knows how Clint feels about her, though. She sees it in the way he looks at her; when they spar, after an Op where she is required to use her body to gain information, when she gets hurt. She doesn’t know if it’s love (because really, how the hell would she know what love is?) but if it isn’t love, then why has Clint never made a move on her? Is that why he is doing this to her now? The freedom of having Loki manipulating his thoughts and actions might mean that Clint is able to explore some of his baser, and well hidden, desires.

That doesn’t make it right, though. It also doesn’t make it any easier for Nat because, while a large part of her may ( _okay, does_ ) want her partner in that way, she certainly doesn’t want him like this. She tries to shift away from Clint now, as he is lapping at the cut on her throat, and sucking on her pulse point, but the attempt is half-hearted. She aches to touch him, but Nat knows that it is _not_ Clint who is currently biting on her earlobe, but someone else who looks like him; who smells like him, and feels like him, and…

“Ahhhh,” she cries out, only half in pain, and arches her body off the bed. Clint has cut into her other breast and closes his mouth over the fresh wound. Nats mind is racing. She is trying to figure out how to get the upper hand, but the only hand she can think about at the moment is Clint’s as it slides up her bare leg, and digs into her arrow wound. This time when she cries out it is in nothing but pain.

“Nat doesn’t like her body being marked,” Clint is saying, and he is getting off of her. She hardly registers what her partner is saying as he walks away from her. The slice in her throat, plus her arrow wound, sting bringing tears to her eyes, and she tries to focus on the pain. Pain means she’s still alive. She is aware of a heat now, and a light, coming from the other side of the room. It is an orange glow and she _knows_ what it is, but her brain isn’t working properly. Nat tries to focus, this time on the light, but she can’t turn her head that far. It hurts; her neck and the slice, and the cuts to her shoulder, arms, legs, and breasts, and the wound on her thigh. They all scream at her in a chorus of hurt and her body feels like it’s on fire.

Then, she doesn’t have to guess what the light is because Clint is back in her line of sight, and he’s holding a red-hot branding iron. Nat gasps and bucks against her restraints, her whole body raising as far off the bed as she can manage. _No!_ Her brain shrieks, but she remains silent. Her eyes track Clint’s movements, and the iron in his hand.

“Nat also doesn’t like being controlled. She fears the thought of someone laying claim to what is hers, specifically her body.” Clint talks while he walks; no emotion present on his face, or in his voice. When he is beside Nat he pauses, as if waiting for something.

_I won’t beg,_ Nat thinks. _I won’t scream or give Loki the satisfaction of even acknowledging what is about to happen. I won’t._

“And what is the image you are going to brand her with, Agent Barton?” Loki’s voice is a caress, like a lover’s, which floats to Nat’s ears. She feels sick, but she doesn’t avert her gaze. Instead, she locks eyes with Clint, and sets her jaw. _Yeah,_ she thinks defiantly and lets the thought leak into her expression. _What’s the image, Agent Barton?_

“A hawk,” he replies, the timbre of his voice dropping an octave, like he only wants her to hear what he has to say. Loki chortles somewhere off to her right.

Nat closes her eyes briefly, but when she opens them again her insolence is writ all over her face. “What are you waiting for, Agent Barton?” she seethes. “Come and claim me.” Nat knows it’s going to hurt, a lot, but she also knows—what was the saying? Clint told her once—pain is just weakness leaving the body.

His electric blue eyes hold her green gaze as he steps towards her. She wonders, briefly, where he’s planning to brand her, but then the pain is at her right hip and it is unbearable. Nat shrieks, long and loud, and the smell of burning flesh is almost enough to make her vomit, but somehow she doesn’t. Then, Clint is stepping back, and the pain is lessened, but still there. A white hot agony spreads from her hip all the way to her toes, and up to her fingertips. It’s a moment before Nat realizes that she is shaking, uncontrollably, and she can’t stop. Clint is back at her side, but the branding iron is gone. He leans in close to her, his face mere inches away from her own. She can feel his hot breath on her lips and a second later Clint’s tongue is licking the corner of her mouth.

Nat is in too much shock to do anything, and a moment later she feels the unmistakable prick of a syringe on the left side of her neck. She gasps like she’d been stabbed. Her partner lifts his head from her mouth, and she sees him toss aside a syringe to the side. Panic sweeps through her, for the first time since this whole ordeal began, and she pulls at the ropes securing her in earnest. The pain in her body is still unbelievable, but it is getting less and less by the second. Nat is just about to ask what he’s done when Clint speaks.

“Natasha doesn’t like to feel out of control.” Clint caresses her face and Nat tries to bit him again, but her shocked state doesn’t allow for more than a gnashing of her teeth. He smiles softly. “The drugs won’t knock her out, as per your request, sir, but a lot of the fight will go out of her.”

As if to prove him wrong Nat suddenly growls like an animal and latches onto his hand with her teeth. She bites into Clint as hard as she can, until his blood is in her mouth, but all he does is chuckle. He wrenches his hand from between her teeth, and moves away from the bed, but not out of sight. He wipes his bleeding hand on his pants and turns to Loki.

“A lot of the fight, but not all of it.”

“Good,” She hears Loki say. “Get the men.”


	3. In Every Way He Knows You Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I won't touch Barton. Not until I've made him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear." Natasha doesn't kick Clint's butt on the catwalk. Instead, this happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very graphic fic. Please read all warnings carefully before reading. Seriously. Read them. There's a laundry list. You have been warned.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please point them out when you see them. My work is un-Beta'd.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own them. Good thing, too. Look at what I've done.

 

 

Nat’s blood is rushing in her ears, and the pain from the branding iron is still white hot on her hip, so she isn’t sure she’s heard Loki right. It sounded like he’d said ‘get the men,’ but she doesn’t know what that means. What men? She turns her unfocused gaze to Clint, whom she sees nod, and then he is gone from her sight. Her vision swims, but Clint is right; the cocktail of drugs in her system, whatever they are, aren’t strong enough to cause her to lose consciousness. She can feel her heart rate speed up, and she is pretty sure her breath is coming out in ragged gasps, but she can’t control it. Her body is not her own, now. She has no control over her motor skills. Though she is telling her hands and feet to pull against their bonds, they won’t move at all.

Vaguely, Nat hears a door open and close. There are multiple footfalls and all of them seem to be heading in her direction, but her mind is going fuzzy, and she can’t seem to hold a count in her head. Clint is before her again, and his face swims in front of her eyes, the blue glow from his gaze shining like beacons in the dark.

“When Nat was fourteen she was raped by three men.” Clint says, as if he is talking about the weather.

“No,” she breathes, and her heart sinks. She remembers telling Clint this horrible tale; the only person she has ever told of the events that had transpired that night. She regrets it now, more than she had ever regretted anything else in her life. How can he betray her like this?

Clint keeps talking, though, as if he hadn’t heard her. “The mark she was supposed to be seducing spiked her vodka, and then invited his bodyguards to join the fun.” The way he says the word ‘fun’ makes Nat feel sick to her stomach.

“I killed them all,” Nat says, but her voice is weak. “In the end I slit all their throats and bathed in their blood.” She hopes it will give him pause; hopes it will make Clint think twice about what he is about to do. Clint knows that she killed those men; she told him that much, but what she hadn’t told him was that she had enjoyed every second of it, and had made it last for hours. The threat doesn’t do her any good, though. Clint merely looks at her, and then steps aside to reveal three men, dressed in black pants and combat boots, but shirtless.

“Don’t mark her,” is Clint’s only instruction as he turns and leaves Nat’s line of sight completely.

The three men advance on her. Their eyes aren’t bright blue, and that means they were fully aware of what they are about to do, which makes what is about to happen even worse. Nat knows she can’t fight them off; knows any resistance is useless with these drugs coursing through her system. She does the only thing she can do, the only thing she has left: she shuts down. Nat turns her head to the side, shuts her eyes, and retreats to the farthest recesses of her mind. It feels like she is floating outside of her body. She watches from above, detached, as one of the men crawls on top of her. The remaining two fan out and go to either side of her body, where they pull and pinch her nipples. The man on top of her begins to move, and the floating Nat turns her head away from the scene.

The whole thing takes about an hour. Or maybe it is a lifetime. Nat can’t be too sure. Finally, the last man rolls away from her, and with a jerk, she is back in her body, which aches. Every bit of her body hurt before, but now _down there_ takes center stage, with the feeling that she has been rubbed raw. Her breasts, wrists, and ankles feel sore and chaffed, and her head is still swimming thanks to the drugs, but they all seem to fade into the background. Despite her best efforts a tear slips out of her eye and makes a hot track down her cheek.

“She fears intimacy, too,” Nat hears Clint before she sees him. _What else can he do?_ She thinks, solemnly. _What else is left for him to take?_

Clint is at her side again, and he is shirtless. The sight is usually enough to make her lick her lips, but not today. Another tear slips down her cheek, though Nat hates herself for it, as Clint moves to her feet. “You fear love, don’t you, Tasha? But I know. I know that you love me. I’ve always known.”

“Clint, please,” Nat breathes and lets out a tiny sob as her partner crawls up her broken body. He keeps his weight off her with one hand and with the other he runs the calloused pad of his thumb over her lips. It is an intimate gesture, a kind gesture, and it breaks something deep inside of the Black Widow. “No, please. Anything else, please, but not this.” she whispers.

Whatever else she might have said is swallowed up by Clint’s lips as they crash into hers. It is not a sweet and gentle kiss, but one borne of yearning, and years of pent up sexual tension. Clint’s tongue forces its way into Nat’s mouth, and his teeth cut her bottom lip. He moans, long and loud, but the brunt of the sound is swallowed up by her mouth this time. Nat tries, she really, really tries not to kiss him back, because it’s _not_ Clint, this man who is kissing her. She repeats that over and over, a mantra in her head: _This not Clint, this is not Clint, this is not Clint_. Her body, however, betrays her (or maybe it’s the drugs), and Nat finds herself kissing him back. Her hips are grinding against Clint’s, as if she has no control over her body, which really, she doesn’t. The open wound from the brand on her hip and the arrow wound rub painfully into his pants, and she cries out, but the sound goes into her partner.

Clint breaks the kiss, but trails more down her neck and throat, where he laps at the dried blood from her cut. Then his face is back in front of hers and he whispers, “I’ve always loved you. Did you know that, Tasha?” His pet name for her draws more tears from her eyes, and she nods, not trusting her voice. “Good,” Clint sighs and looks almost relieved. He kisses her again, though not as thoroughly as before, and sits up.

Nat’s eyes never leave his as he unzips his pants and forces them, along with his boxers, down to his ankles. She has seen him naked before, too, and this is nothing new to her, but the sight of Clint completely naked and erect causes more tears to spill her from eyes. He is glorious, has always been glorious. Like Michelangelo’s David carved out of marble; hard, smooth, and god-like. It is the reason _why_ he is naked that makes the tears fall, and as much as she wants him right now she doesn’t want it to be like this. Nat longs to touch him, but her hands are still tied, and even if they weren’t she isn’t sure she should touch him anyway.

_This isn’t Clint, this isn’t Clint, this isn’t Clint._

It sure looks like her partner, though; the man who saved her life not just once, but a dozen times over. The man to whom she owes the greatest amount of debt, a debt she will never be able to repay. The man she tried to save from Loki. Nat failed, though, and that thought above all the others, is what makes her cry in earnest now.

“I’m sorry I failed you, Clint. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” She knows what’s coming; she remembers the conversation with Loki. They are both going to die today, and soon.

He doesn’t say anything while he moves back on top of her, but he does kiss her, and Nat doesn’t resist. Their tongues meet, and Clint slides his hands under her ass and picks her up as far off the bed as he can manage. Clint bites her bottom lip and she moans when he inches his cock into her. When he is fully sheathed Nat moans again. It feels like coming home; it feels right. She forgets, for a moment, that the sonofabitch Asguardian is in the room with them. For a second it is only Clint and Natasha, and there is only his weight on top of her, his cock inside of her, his hips moving against hers.

“Tasha,” Clint breathes into her ear, and when had they stopped kissing? Nothing hurts anymore, except Nat’s heart, and all she can focus on is the solid muscle of Clint on top of her, and inside of her. Her fingers strain towards him, aching to touch him, but she knows it’s futile to ask to be released. She doesn’t want to kill Clint, but she knows she will hurt him if it might save his life. And hers. He knows it, too.

He kisses her again, deeply, and then draws back to look her in the eyes. A spark of the old Clint is there, and it only lasts for a second. Only long enough for him to say, “I have wanted this from the first time I laid eyes on you, Nat. I have never wanted anyone else, and I never will.” Then, the blue curtain slams down, and Clint is no longer there, at least not _her_ Clint. His pace quickens and Nat knows, from experience, that it won’t be long now. She can feel her orgasm building, but she won’t let herself fall over the edge. As much as she wants to let go, to surrender herself to the moment, she _can’t._ It wouldn’t be right because this _isn’t Clint_ and, as much as she enjoys the kissing and his weight on her, she won’t allow herself to climax.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her ass and he cries out, throwing his head back. “ _Tasha_ ,” he hisses and she can feel him empty himself inside her; can feel the trail his semen burn as they make their way inside of her. He pumps a few more times, and then she is falling back onto the mattress, and he is pulling out of her. She shudders when he is gone, feeling empty and abandoned, but she doesn’t make a sound. Nat watches Clint pull on his boxers and pants, but she still doesn’t say anything.

Loki is suddenly behind Clint, then, and handing him a gun. _This is it_ , Nat thinks, and steels herself for the death blow.

“And what is it that Agent Romanoff fears above all else, Agent Barton?” Loki half sighs, his mouth stretched into that maniacal grin again.

Clint clicks off the safety of the gun and raises it, but instead of pointing it at Nat, he presses the muzzle to his temple.

Nat’s heart stops beating.

“Clint, no!” she screams and pulls so hard on her wrist restraints that she can feel blood well up under the rope and run down her arms.

“Above all else, Nat fears not being able to keep me safe.” Clint pauses, and that second stretches into an eternity.

Then, “I’m sorry, Tasha,” he whispers and pulls the trigger.


	4. This Is My Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear." Natasha doesn't kick Clint's butt on the catwalk. Instead, this happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very graphic fic. Please read all warnings carefully before reading. Seriously. Read them. There's a laundry list. You have been warned.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please point them out when you see them. My work is un-Beta'd.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own them. Good thing, too. Look at what I've done.

 

 

“ _Noooo_ ,” Nat screams again, but this time when she pulls on her bonds there is no resistance, and she bolts upright in bed. Her heart is racing a mile a minute and she can’t seem to catch her breath. There is nothing but darkness all around her and it feels oppressive, like the blackness itself is trying to smother her.

Nat scrambles out of bed, but her feet get caught in the covers. She lands, with a loud _thud_ on the cold metal floor of her room aboard the Hellicarrier. She detangles herself and stands up, reaching for the light on the bedside table. Light floods the small room, and Nat scans it for any sign of Loki, or Clint. No one is there; she is alone. She is shivering violently, her tank top and shorts sticking to her like she just got out of a shower. Her heart is still racing, but her breath is now coming in ragged gasps, instead of not at all. She spies her cellphone on the bedside table and picks it up, flicking it open, and hitting the number one key before she can think better of it.

The phone rings once. “Tasha?” Clint asks on the other end, groggily.

The use of her pet name sends tears plunging down her cheeks. “ _Clint_ ,” she whispers and her voice is tiny and childlike.

There is a rustle on the other end of the phone, like someone is sitting up in bed, and kicking the covers off. “I’ll be right there, Nat. Hold on. I’ll be right there.” His voice is no longer groggy.

Nat snaps the phone shut and sits back on her bed. She leans into the headboard and drags her knees up to her chest. She is still shivering, even more violently, though she didn’t think that was possible, and contemplates grabbing the covers and wrapping them around her. She knows, though, that this is the type of chill that covers won’t stave off. This is the type of chill that runs to the marrow of your bones; the type of chill that won’t let you sit still.

She is up from her bed now, and she walks over to the door. A second later Clint is banging on it.

“Nat? Nat, let me in. It’s Clint.” He bangs again and again, the sound resonating around the room, but Nat is frozen in place. What if she opens the door and those bright blue eyes greet her? She shakes her head and goes to the side of the door, where she presses her back into the cold metal of the bulkhead.

“Damn it, Tasha, let me in!” Clint is yelling now, but he has stopped knocking. There is a few seconds of silence and then the door bursts open, metal screaming against metal, and Clint stalks into her room. Nat leaps at him from her position by the door, and Clint reacts as if she’s a threat because he doesn’t know it’s her. He crouches low to the ground, and using his superior upper body strength, flips her over his head and onto the floor. Nat is only on her back for a second, though, and by that time Clint can see it’s her.

“Tasha?” Clint asks, confused, but he has no more time to say anything else because she is launching herself at him again. Nat slams her body into his and Clint falls backwards, his head hitting the floor. She’s straddling him, her thighs squeezing his sides, and he’s gasping for air.

She takes his head in her hands and holds him tight. “Let me see your eyes. I need to see your eyes.” Nat demands, her tone harsh

Clint gazes up at her, confusion writ all over his face, but he stops moving. He goes completely still under her. “Nat it’s me,” he says simply, and doesn’t protest when she pulls his head off the floor and examines each of his eyes.

“Is it?” she asks, disbelief etched into her tone and face. She doesn’t let go of his head. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Clint replies, but before he can say anything else, Nat is scooting away from him until she is leaning against her bed.

There is the sound of many boots hitting the metal floor outside the room, and Clint whirls around to see half a dozen armed SHIELD agents come to a stop in the corridor.

One steps forward and says, “Agent Barton?”

Clint stands and waves them off, annoyed. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

“But, sir-”

Clint slams the door in their faces and turns back to Nat, who hasn’t moved a muscle, but she is looking at him, tears tracks staining her cheeks, and she is shivering violently.

“Tash,” Clint breathes and there is pain in his voice and behind his eyes. He approaches her slowly. “I’m just gonna sit, okay?”

Nat’s eyes follow his every movement, but she doesn’t try and attack him when Clint sits down next to her. She also doesn’t resist when Clint reaches for her and tucks her into his side. He reaches behind him and grabs the quilt from her bed, and throws it over her.

They are silent for a very long time when, suddenly, Nat says, “It was a dream, but it felt so real.” Her trembling, which had subsided a few minutes ago, starts up again, and Clint hugs her more tightly to him.

She turns to him and lifts her hand to his cheek. It is a gesture she has never done before, but she needs to touch her partner, to know that he is alive. “Loki made good on his promise,” Nat explains, and frowns when Clint’s face falls. He looks pained, hurt, and a touch angry.

“Loki’s gone, Tash.” Clint replies, but she can tell he wants to say more. A moment later he sighs, and it is a burdened sound, which breaks her heart. “I’ve been having the same dream.”

Nat pulls Clint to her, using her hand on his cheek to force him to look at her, and then she leans into him. He stills, but she brushes her lips against his anyway. Then, his hands are like iron bands on her upper arms and he's pushing her away.

“No, Nat,” he says and shakes his head. He looks pained, but determined.

“I need this, Clint. Please.” Nat replies and moves towards him again. This time Clint stands and backs away. She frowns at him again, her eyes filling with tears, but she follows him. “Clint, I need to know you’re alive. I need to know _I’m_ alive, that Loki didn’t kill me, and that this isn’t the hell I deserve.”

Clint shakes his head, holding up his hands as if in surrender, but it’s a gesture made to keep her at bay. “You can’t trust me Nat. _I_ don’t trust myself.”

Nat smiles sadly. “I trust you, Clint. You’re the only one I’ve ever trusted.” And as she says it she knows it to be true. It’s the most honest thing she’s ever said to anyone. “I need this, Clint. I need you.”

A wretched look sweeps over the archer’s face, and his hands fall to his sides. Nat takes a couple more steps towards him, but when Clint shakes his head, eyes downcast, she stops.

“Not like this, Tasha,” Clint says and it sounds like every word takes all his effort to force past his lips. He looks up at her and his eyes are as unguarded as she has ever seen them; Clint Barton is naked before her: his anguish, hatred, lust, and guilt all plain to see on his features. Slowly, he sinks to his knees, and Nat goes to him without a second thought. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him, resting his head on her stomach. “Please forgive me, Nat, but I can’t do this. Not now. Not yet.”

She runs her hands through his hair, and nods, even though he can’t see her. She understands. She doesn’t say anything, though, and they stay like that for what seems like an eternity.

Eventually, Clint releases her and rises, their bodies pressed into one another so that barely an inch of space separates them. He bends his head and kisses her, chastely. It lasts for no more than two seconds and then he is pulling back. He looks Nat in the eyes, his hands cupping her face. “When we do this I want it to be because Loki _doesn’t_ have a hold over us, not because he still does.”

“But you _do_ want this, right?” Nat can’t help it. She has to ask.

Clint looks on the verge of laughing when a single tear slips down his cheek. “Jesus Christ, Tasha. You have no idea, do you?”

She frowns up at him and wipes away the tear before it can reach his chin. She shakes her head. Nat knows she isn’t playing fair because she does have _some_ idea, but she wants to hear him say it.

“I have wanted nothing else since I first laid eyes on you.” Clint confesses and his words eerily match the ones from her dream. He looks terrified, like she’s going to hit him, or worse, laugh.

She doesn’t do either, though, merely pulls him down to her and kisses him. It’s not as chaste as their last kiss, but she doesn’t open her mouth, and he doesn’t try to deepen the kiss, either.

She looks up at him contemplatively when she pulls away. “I’ve wanted this since you punched me in the face.”

Clint laughs and Nat smiles. He shakes his head and grabs her hand, leading her over to her bed. He retrieves the quilt from the floor, places it back on the bed, and then motions for her to get in. After she’s settled he slides in next to her. She places her head on his chest and inhales his scent: leather, knife polish, and _Clint_. Nat knows she won’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night. Loki’s face is behind her eyelids every time she closes her eyes, but Clint makes no move to go, and she doesn’t ask him to leave. His presence is all she needs, really. All she wants. He switches off the light and the room plunges into darkness.

She shifts against Clint and he places a kiss to the top of her head. It will be a long time before she can sleep through the night without waking from a nightmare, but for the first time since before Loki, Natasha feels content.


End file.
